Mirror-Girl
by setepenre-set
Summary: People always think that you need to be a cheerleader, or the class president, to be popular, but that's really not true. The thing people really seem to like most, I've found, is a sort of deliberate blankness. Let people see themselves in you-mirror them. It's easier that way. Easier than trying to be a person.


Vampires, they say, are the only creatures that, when they look into a mirror, do not see their own reflection.

* * *

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by mirrors. Not in a vain way—I used to think my reflection was another person. Not me but—someone else. Another little girl, trapped in the mirror.

It must be terrible, I thought, to be the mirror-girl, to exist only as the reflection of someone else.

I always figured that must be why she looked so sad.

* * *

When the Cullens came to Forks, it was a newsworthy event. Forks, Washington, isn't really a place where much happens. Oh, there were occasional things—last summer, an old woman had died in a fire, and there had also been a rather nasty car accident (the man driving had actually been decapitated, very gruesome), and another man had disappeared—but everyone agreed that he had gone out hunting, and must have gotten lost, or injured, and had died out there. Sad, but not really things to hold your interest. Charlie, my father—he's the police chief—was interested in those kinds of things, but I never really cared so much for police work.

Especially in a town like Forks.

It had been a newsworthy event when I moved to Forks three years ago—daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. Maybe that was why the whole place had sort of taken to me.

People always think that you need to be a cheerleader, or the class president, to be popular, but that's really not true. The thing people really seem to like most, I've found, is a sort of deliberate blankness.

I realized that out when I came to Forks. If you stay quiet, let people talk about what they like, maybe ask a few leading questions, make sure to mirror their facial expressions…well, all they see is themselves. They sort of—project themselves onto you.

It's easier that way. Easier than trying to be a person.

With only the smallest amount of effort, I had made Forks High School my own private kingdom. Or queendom, as the case may be. I dressed simply, didn't involve myself in extracurricular activities, spoke very little…and yet people just fell all over themselves to help me—to walk me to classes, sit with me at lunch, ask me to dances, invite me to parties.

But…none of it seemed to matter very much. Nothing, ever, really seemed to matter very much.

And then the Cullens came to town.

 _She_ came to town.

* * *

Edythe Cullen was the antithesis of everything I'd always thought I liked.

She was—odd. She had a strange, almost old-fashioned way of talking, was always just a half-second too late in understanding pop-culture references, and she didn't really dress right. It was like she'd studied Teenage Fashion out of a magazine without ever looking at what people wore in the real world. She had different colored contacts that she wore on different days—well, she said they weren't contacts, but obviously they had to be—and she wore way too much body glitter.

There was a strange intensity about her; she looked at things too closely, listened too carefully, cared too much.

Homeschooled, maybe. Honestly, I suspected that their 'family' was some sort of weird cult thing. She was the kind of person who people felt sorry for, but also a little unsettled by. The kind of person it's hard to look at, due to second-hand embarrassment.

But—

"Would you like to be partners, perhaps?" Edythe asked, her voice quiet, almost musical.

I looked up to see her smiling at me crookedly, and for some reason the sight it just sort of—

I took a sharp breath, for no apparent reason.

"Or—possibly you already have a partner." The smile faded and suddenly I was able to breathe again.

"No," I said, too quickly. "No, I—I don't have another partner."

(she touched my hand, later, when we changed places at the microscope. hers was cold, almost icy, and when our fingers brushed, it was as if an electric current passed through us.)

* * *

"Bella Swan," I told myself sternly that night, looking in my bedroom mirror. "You are not a lesbian."

I'd had crushes, for heaven's sake! On boys! And this didn't feel—anything like those had.

I couldn't be gay.

Edythe Cullen was just—odd. That was all. That was why I found myself staring at her at random times. It wasn't that I was into her or anything.

(in the glass, the mirror girl looked out at me with dark, sad eyes.)

* * *

"You're unhappy," Edythe said, looking at me, her gaze unwavering, penetrating.

(her eyes were dark gold today; a tawny color that reminded me of lions and sunlight)

I shrugged noncommittally.

This, I thought, would be where she started to tell me about why she was actually unhappy.

She tilted her head, still staring at me, and stayed silent for a long, strangely charged moment.

Waiting for my answer, I realized—did she—did she really want to hear about me?

"You are unhappy," she said again, voice low, eyes still on mine.

"…Isn't everyone?" I said, and tried to laugh, tried not to notice my heart beating too hard.

"Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"You never answer things," she said. "Not real answers. It's almost like you're hiding. Why do you want to hide?"

(her gaze was piercing; I felt as if she could—see everything, everything about me.)

"I'm not hiding," I lied.

She gave me a deeply unconvinced look.

"I'm not hiding," I said again, looking away from her, "I—there's nothing about me to hide."

"Don't you know who you are, Bella?" she asked, voice gentle.

"—no," I whispered. "No, I don't."

(mirror-girl, mirror-girl, I'd been just a reflection for so long that I didn't know, anymore, didn't—)

I looked up at her again, and her eyes caught mine, held me, still and entranced, in her gaze.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked.

(seen; I'd never felt seen like that)

She reached out, very carefully, and brushed her cold fingers across my cheek.

"I would very much like to," she said.

* * *

"Jess," I said, "do you think I'm—observant?"

She blinked at me, then laughed.

"Bella, you didn't even notice a van about to hit you!" she said.

I laughed too, but it was automatic.

(if I was so unobservant, then why was I the only one who noticed all of the really inexplicable things about Edythe? Big things, like the way she'd been standing four cars down from me in the parking lot when the van started to slide, and yet had somehow managed to get to me in time…and little things, too. The glitter she wore—really thick and bright glitter—they didn't sell anything like that in any of the stores in town; I'd looked. There was nothing with that icy sheen to it. Did she make it herself? Order it special?)

(Why would that matter, Bella; get a grip.)

* * *

"—but I think I might not be a very nice person," I blurted out.

Edythe looked over at me, faint surprise in her face.

(we were sitting out in a sunlight field near the woods, and her skin was sparkling again. It should have looked vulgar, gauche, twee—but she just looked beautiful to me, and I could not look away.)

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

I made a face, flushing.

"I—the things I think, sometimes," I said. "Not just sometimes. A lot. They aren't—they aren't very nice."

"Like what?"

"Oh, things like—like Jess is supposed to be my friend, but I'll find myself thinking that she really only spends time with me because I'm popular, or that she wants to—to spread stories about me. She called me the other day to ask permission to invite Mike to the spring dance, and it's not like I wanted Mike to go with me, but I was glad that she felt like she had to ask my permission. And I'll catch myself thinking that the people around me are stupid, that I'm—somehow better than them. It's awful. I'm awful," I said miserably.

"You're not awful," Edythe said.

I shook my head unhappily.

"I have—a rather bad temper, myself," she said. "I understand about…feeling as though you're some sort of…monster, for the things you think or feel."

I groaned. Obviously she was just trying to make me feel better.

"Look at it this way," she said briskly, "it's not as if you've killed someone, is it?"

I laughed, surprised.

"I think maybe you have low standards for what constitutes a good person," I said. "No, I haven't killed anyone. Why, have you?" I added teasingly.

She smiled at me, but there was something—odd about her smile.

"I could, you know. I have to be careful."

I laughed again. Of course she had to be joking. It was a weird, Edythe-y joke.

"I don't suppose there are a lot of people murdered in Forks," she said, raising her arms above her head and stretching languorously. She rolled her shoulders. I swallowed hard and looked away.

"No, not really," I said. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I just—it seems like the town had a lot of…unfortunate accidents this past summer. Makes you wonder if they really were all accidents, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunate accidents?" I frowned.

"Mm," she said. "Like Mrs. Lethbridge."

"Mrs. Lethbridge?" I asked. "The old lady who died in the fire?"

"It didn't strike you as somehow—not right?" Edythe asked. "And the car accident where the man got decapitated. And the hunter who disappeared. Seems like too many accidents to me. Don't you think?"

"I—I don't know," I said slowly. "I guess I've never really thought about it before."

"What did your father think?" she asked, eyes on mine. "Did he think any of the deaths were suspicious?"

"I'm not really sure," I said, "We don't really talk about his work much."

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "I was hoping maybe you and I could…."

She trailed off, and I laughed.

"Are we going to play Daphne and Velma?" I asked.

She looked sidelong at me, a frown between her eyebrows. After a moment, her face cleared.

"Ah," she said, "Scooby Doo."

"Yeah, only we don't have a dog," I said.

She smiled, a bit wickedly.

"We could ask your good friend Jacob," she said.

I hit her playfully on the arm.

"Hey, now," I said. "Jacob is very good looking."

Her eyes flashed.

"Yes, I suppose he is," she said, tone cold.

"…you don't like Jacob, do you?" I said.

"No, I don't," she said easily. "And he doesn't like me." She smiled at me again, raised her eyebrows. "So? Are we going to—play Daphne and Velma, then?"

(her smile was dazzling)

"Yeah," I said, smiling back at her, feeling butterflies in my stomach. "Why not?"

* * *

It was easy enough to copy the files from Charlie's office—I just walked right in one day, while he was gone, told the receptionist that I was going to wait for him, and when she left me, I copied the files. Edith and I poured over them together, which was—less easy. I don't much care for blood. We even snuck out one night together to look at Mrs. Lethbridge's burnt-out house.

It was—I always thought that maybe if I spent enough time around Edythe, I'd sort of…get her out of my system.

But it didn't work like that at all; the more I was around her, the more I wanted.

(and wanted and wanted and wanted)

* * *

We were sitting together, as always, in the science classroom.

The teacher turned off the lights, a video played—

Edythe was sitting so close to me. Less than an inch away. That was—that was weird, wasn't it? What if someone noticed?

(why couldn't I make myself move away?)

I wanted to reach out to her, to touch her; the impulse to stroke her skin was almost overwhelming.

(what was wrong with me? God, I was losing my mind)

I couldn't stop myself from looking over at her and a jolt went through me as I realized she was looking at me. She smiled, her eyes dancing in the reflected light of the television, her lips curving and I—

(wanted to kiss her wanted to touch her oh god I wanted it so much, wanted to run my fingers through her hair and hold her in my arms, wanted to hold her hand and I couldn't I couldn't—)

Casually, she leaned just that slightest bit towards me, so that our arms were pressed together, and the sensation of it whited out my mind.

I have no memory of the video that we were supposed to be watching. All I remember is Edythe.

When the teacher flipped the lights back on, Edythe moved away and slowly my thoughts began to gain a little coherency.

About three things I was absolutely positive.

First, I was definitely a lesbian. Second, that Edythe was literally the most beautiful and fascinating girl on the entire planet. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.

(oh no)

* * *

Things, of course, were even worse than I was thinking.

* * *

"—was that the only reason you wanted to spend time with me, then?" I demanded, furious tears in my eyes. "Because you knew my dad was the police chief and you wanted me to help you? Because Mrs. Lethbridge and—and the other two; they were—they were—vampires—like you—"

"You have to understand," Edythe said, voice rising, "someone was killing us, here; we had to know who, had to find out—"

"You used me!"

"We were dying!" Edythe bared her teeth—too sharp, gleaming in the light. "I had to know!"

"You never cared about me at all!"

Edith growled, eyes flashing.

"That's not true, I—it started like that, but—"

"And you did something to me, didn't you," I said viciously, "something to make me—to make me want—"

"What are you talking—" Edythe started to snarl, but she never finished the sentence, because I shoved her are against the wall and kissed her.

(I'd wanted to for so long, wanted to so badly, had ached for this moment, and now everything was wrong and it wasn't real, but god, I was at least going to have this—)

"—this," I said, tearing my mouth away from hers. "You made me want this."

Edith's eyes were wide, almost shocked. I wanted desperately, so desperately, to kiss her again, but I made myself step away from her instead.

I went to turn, intending to leave, to walk away, and then, in a split second, Edythe had grabbed my wrist and whirled me around and pinned me against the wall.

(she could have slammed me against the wall, could have hurt me, but she just held me there, like that, gentleness holding back the strength of her and I felt my heartbeat fluttering in my throat)

"I never made you want anything," she said, voice low and intense. "I wouldn't—I wouldn't have—"

A shudder rippled through her body; she leaned her forehead against mine.

"Please," she said, "Please, Bella, let me kiss you again."

"Yes," I whispered, and she did.

* * *

"So who is it?" I asked, later.

"Hmm?" Edythe asked absently, pressing kisses to my hair. "Who is who?"

"The person killing vampires," I said.

She pulled away to look me in the face, amusement in her expression.

"You want to talk about that now?" she asked.

"Well, excuse me if I'm a little concerned about the safety of my vampire girlfriend," I said, rolling my eyes.

Edythe's eyes went wide.

"Oh—" she said. "That is—I—we assumed it was—someone who found out about our kind, a human, but—we think now that it's actually another clan of vampires, who—Forks is a peaceful place; my clan is—we help vampires who want to live peacefully with humans, we help them to find places to settle. But other clans…they aren't always like that. We think the killings are revenge killings, for—betraying our kind."

"So—much worse than just some human who thinks he's Van Helsing, then," I said.

She laughed.

"You understood that reference," I murmured. "How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen," Edythe said, stroking my hair. "I've been seventeen since—1918."

"Wow," I said.

She looked worried for a moment, so I kissed her.

"—so how can I help?" I asked. "My dad is the police chief; you need some more files stolen?"

Edythe blinked at me.

"You—you want to help?" she asked.

"Of course I want to help," I said. "I—think I would have wanted to help, even before this, if you'd asked me."

"I am sorry," Edythe said. "For not asking. I—I didn't know you, before."

She looked unhappy, now. I cupped her face in my hand.

"I know you didn't know me," I said. "I—I didn't know me, either, before I met you. I think I'd—forgotten what it was like—to be a person. And you helped me to remember. Let me help you, now, Edythe. Please."

"Yes," she said.

* * *

Later, after she went home, I went back up to my bedroom, and, as I stepped inside, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.

(She was smiling.)

* * *

 ** _notes: Prompted by a tumblr anon, who asked me 'if you were ever to write Twilight fanfic, what do you think it'd look like?' Turns out, it looks like this. I hope you enjoy it, anon!_**

 ** _A few lines have been quoted from the source text (sometimes slightly changed). Artistic liberties have been taken with the plot and the timeline._**


End file.
